


I think I might be sinking

by galaxy_witch



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Drinking, Galra Keith (Voltron), Incubus!Keith, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking, Succubi & Incubi, but there's a lil plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxy_witch/pseuds/galaxy_witch
Summary: “Someone could take advantage of you, there’s lots of creatures roaming the desert this time of night.” The smile doesn’t falter, and the stranger takes another sip of his drink.“Are you trying to take advantage of me?” Shiro questions, voice hard and strong.“Only if you’re asking,” the stranger replies. “I’m Keith.”





	I think I might be sinking

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Voltron fandom... I just started going here, and I come bearing gifts.  
> This was written because I'm thirsty for Keith in Galra form (Galra form = Incubus form in this). I also love me some good vintage vibes~  
> Enjoy!

He stops at a motel just three miles off of Interstate 10.

What led him here? He doesn’t know, exactly.

Shiro can’t explain what lured him off of the exit; it didn’t make sense in his mind, but his body said _go_. So he did.

The sun started to set behind the mountains, painting the desert a mix of pink, orange, and gold.

He had enough gas, at least half a tank left in the old 89’ Chevy Camaro. He wasn’t tired; the burnt gas station coffee and his endless supply of Marlboro reds gave him all the energy that he needed.

Shiro would have made it to California well before midnight had he kept driving. It was an easy drive from Phoenix through the desert, and the sound of the cicadas and Zeppelin’s _Mothership_ record playing in the background was enough to keep him awake.

California is the next stop, but it’s not the destination. There was no end-route, no final resting place; when he makes it to the Pacific he’ll have to turn around. He has no plans of going back to where he started.

Maybe he’ll drive up to Portland or Seattle next, and spend a week doing odd-jobs for a boy with sad eyes who’s living out of his friend’s basement. That is, after all, how he met Lance those few years back and landed his job at the repair shop.

He hasn’t stayed anywhere for longer than a week since starting his new journey. He can’t.

When he sits in his empty apartment alone, all he can see behind closed lids are their faces. The faces of the friends he lost, the endless amount of blood on his own hands. He also sees his ex, the man who couldn’t convince him to stay. It all hurts.

Those thoughts keep him awake, they keep him from moving on.

The television static isn’t enough to block out the noise in his head.

This isn’t the life his fallen soldiers would have wanted for him. Even in their death, he never wants to let his team down.

So he got into his car one day and never turned back. He stopped by Paladin Auto-Body first thing that morning to tell his boss that he was leaving.

The crew at the repair shop had been one of his few sources of light since coming home from the war.

Hunk and Pidge gave him a sad smile, but they understood his desire to leave.

Lance looked at him, brows turned down, and gave him a firm squeeze on the shoulder. They were all clearly concerned, but their worries weren’t enough to make him stay. He knew he had to leave. They all reassured him that he could call if he ever needed anything.

He drove from the North East down to Charlotte, Atlanta, New Orleans, Houston, El Paso, and then to Phoenix. Shiro never really wanted to visit Los Angeles before, or really any of these places, but the driving helped clear his head. Seeing all of these cities enticed him with a newfound sense of wonder, and maybe just a bit of hope.

He could have made it across the state line before midnight, but he’s heard that the desert gets eerie at night. Shiro isn’t one to believe in ghost stories and urban legends, but as he drives down the highway, he grows weary at the impending night sky and the glowing eyes that seem to hide behind the cacti lining the road.

What does he have to lose by stopping for the night? He’ll continue to California in the morning.

The motel’s lights flicker in his vision, casting irregular patterns of artificial purple and green along his face. The sign reads _Galra Motel_. He can’t help but laugh. The motel is something out of a horror movie; would he ever make it out?

He grabs for his wallet and cigarettes with one hand, and pulls the keys out of the ignition with the other.

There are a few cars in the lot besides for his; enough to reflect imperfect vacancy, but not enough to make the place feel congested.

He walks into the motel lobby, and the receptionist just stares at him blankly. The cold, dead stare from her eyes is unnerving, and it makes him want to turn back, but he suffers through and reserves a room for the night.

He makes his way past the lobby, content with knowing that some much needed rest is near. As he walks toward his room he spots an open area with music softly traveling throughout. _A bar._

Shiro didn’t, fortunately enough, resort to heavy drinking after being discharged. He saw the ways in which soldiers came home from the war and slowly deteriorated as alcohol burned down their throats. He is still hurting, still healing, but he won’t let his own story end in such disaster.

He survived, and he’ll keep doing so, no matter how much it hurts.

He does, however, enjoy having a drink or two after a long day. The nightmares kept him awake again last night, and he deserved a good drink before bed. What’s one drink?

The room is dim aside from the piss-yellow lights that hang from the ceiling. It’s a small area, fitting nothing more than the bar, a pool table, and a couple of couches. There’s an old jukebox in the corner playing the song _Killer Queen_ from the neon-framed speakers. The man at the bar taps along to the beat.

He makes his way over to one of the bar stools.

The bartender watches Shiro walk over and smiles behind her lilac hair as she wipes down a glass with her rag.

“What’dya looking for tonight?” the bartender asks as he sits down. He bites his lip, wondering why the question feels so loaded.

“Whisky neat, thanks.”

The bartender flashes him another smile and proceeds to make the drink.

The man siting just a stool away looks over at him then. Shiro feels the other man’s eyes before he sees them. He isn’t bothered, he’s used to receiving questioning glances from strangers ever since coming home from overseas.

“What happened to you?” the stranger asks. He looks over and sees the man gesture to his right arm, no surprises there.

“Ex-military, accidents happen,” he replies, giving the stranger a sheepish smile and knocking lightly on the metal of his prosthetic.

The stranger nods, accepting Shiro’s response. He doesn’t say anything more, for the moment.

The bartender then slides over the drink, and he stares into it before taking a sip. Shiro realizes how tired he is as he sits and sips his drink. For some reason, the air in the room feels stale.

“So, what’s a guy like you doing at a shitty motel bar at this hour?” Shiro sees the bartender roll her eyes at the man’s blunt insult.

“A guy like me?”

“You heard me,” the stranger bites, sipping at his beer.

Shiro takes this moment to really look at the man now. His jet-black hair falls over intense eyes that now stare into his own. He wears jeans that are impossibly tight, a black t-shirt, and a beaten pair of chucks. There’s something dangerous in those eyes, something Shiro just can’t place.

He doesn’t respond, so the stranger continues.

“You look like you could knock a guy out in three seconds flat if you wanted to.” He says, lifting himself from his current stool and moving to the open one next to Shiro.

“Strong and handsome, but you got that absolutely vulnerable look in your eyes. You should be careful.” The stranger wears the smallest of smiles, threatening something that Shiro doesn’t understand.

“Oh?” Shiro is no stranger to random bar-hookups or one-night stands, he knows the man is flirting with him. A mysterious, gorgeous man is absolutely trying to ruin his life in the middle of the night in a dirty motel off of Interstate 10. For some reason, Shiro _wants_ it.

“Someone could take advantage of you, there’s lots of creatures roaming the desert this time of night.” The smile doesn’t falter, and the stranger takes another sip of his drink.

“Are you trying to take advantage of me?” Shiro questions, voice hard and strong, now a mixture of both excitement and defensiveness.

“Only if you’re asking,” the stranger replies. “I’m Keith.”

“Shiro,” he offers in return. Keith repeats his name, _Shiro_ , mulling the name over on his lips. Each syllable sounding like they’re dipped in honey as they come slowly out of Keith’s mouth. Something inside of Shiro burns.

“Keith, I hope I’m not making any assumptions– but I am, asking,” Shiro says, leaning into Keith’s space. Shiro isn’t one to back down from a challenge.

Keith’s smile is blatant now, wicked, and utterly mesmerizing.

What the hell is he doing?

Keith throws back the rest of his beer in record time. Shiro watches as his throat bobs and excess beer slips through the cracks of his lips. Honestly, he’s kind of turned on.

Shiro throws some cash onto the bar, quickly thanking the bartender for the whisky.

A hand snakes its way into Shiro’s and pulls him off of the bar stool. Shiro has a funny feeling that he’s not gonna see his own motel room at all tonight.

Keith’s hand is soft and strong, almost as comforting as it is terrifying. It’s been a while since anyone has held his hand.

He has such an uneasy feeling about his place, about this man, but this sudden rush of desire outweighs it all.

They stumble upon room thirteen (Keith’s room, he supposes), which is just a few rooms down the hallway from the bar.

He doesn’t know how the door opens. He doesn’t know how he gets slammed against the paint-chipped wall, or when exactly Keith shoves his tongue down Shiro’s throat. Those little moments all pass in a blur, and all of a sudden Shiro feels lightheaded, dizzy, and burning from every place that Keith is currently touching him.

Keith tastes sweet, like the beer he was just drinking, but also faintly burnt, charred. Maybe after this they’ll lie together in bed and Keith will offer Shiro a cigarette; not that he doesn’t already have enough of his own.

The clothes go fast, too. Every piece of cloth nearly rips in Keith’s firm grasp. The movements are desperate, Shiro can’t keep up.

Is Keith lonely too?

Keith bites down Shiro’s neck and bare chest as he unzips Shiro’s pants and shoves them to the ground. Keith is biting too hard across Shiro’s torso, he can feel sharp pain surge through his body, but each scrape of teeth also yields more euphoria.

Once all of his clothes are scattered across the floor, Shiro is thrown onto the bed with more force than expected. Keith is much smaller than he is, but undoubtedly strong.

Shiro watches as Keith stands at the foot of the bed. He looks focused, determined, _hungry_. He takes his own clothes off with just as much haste, but it’s graceful, elegant, Keith is so goddamn beautiful.

In the dim light of the room, with nothing but the flashing motel sign peering in through the window, Keith’s skin almost glows a cool purple. He wants to reach out and touch– he will.

Keith smiles before joining Shiro on the bed, their bodies connecting in an instant.

The cool purple burns hot to the touch, too hot, feverishly warm.

Keith’s mouth is back on Shiro’s, sloppily licking past his lips. Shiro hears a small moan vibrate between their mouths, but he isn’t sure which one of them let it slip.

Keith then trails a hand down Shiro’s chest, nails scratching the surface, and makes its way to the pulsing heat of Shiro’s dick.

Shiro’s hand reaches up to cradle Keith’s face as they continued to kiss, and Keith begins to steadily pump Shiro’s hardening cock. The hand cradling Keith’s cheek moves from his face and back towards his hair. Shiro absentmindedly caresses Keith’s ear in the process, there’s an odd pointedness to Keith’s ear. He ignores it.

He feels high, the way his senses aren’t working, or just aren’t working properly. He’s confused at the sensation, their touches fast and scarring, Keith needs to slow down so his brain can catch up.

With a hand in Keith’s hair, Shiro tugs, and regrettably pulls their mouths apart. Keith growls in protest, but Shiro speaks.

“Keith, I need-” he doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Keith leans back in and connects their mouths again.

Keith seems to understand, though. The kiss is brief and Keith sits up, straddling Shiro’s waist.

Shiro wants to reach out and touch, but he feels weighted and dazed, like the heat of every kiss and caress is weighing him down, and he’s struggling to move.

He looks up at Keith, who has finally gone still, and their eyes lock.

Bright, glowing yellow stares back at him. There’s another smile stretching across his face, causing sharp teeth to poke out between Keith’s lips.

Shiro then notices everything.

The pointed ears, the purple skin, the long, sharp claws, the sudden emergence of a tail, and dark violet markings on both sides of his face.

Shiro wants to scream, but any sound he wants to make gets caught up in his throat.

Keith notices Shiro’s hesitation. His legs stay planted on either side of Shiro, and then Keith bends down to mouth at his ear.

“Just say the words and I’ll stop,” he whispers. He sounds sincere, but Shiro can’t be sure of that.

He feels a hot tongue lick at his ear, and then fangs scrape against it, giving Shiro a full body shiver.

“But you don’t want me to stop, do you, Takashi?”

“How do you know m–” Shiro is cut off by his own embarrassingly loud moan as Keith rolls his hips, their heat rutting together.

His question dies on his tongue _. No_ , he thinks before he’s able to speak again, _don’t stop_.

Keith sits back up, and runs his hands down Shiro’s chest as he does, waiting for an answer.

“I want you,” Shiro chokes out finally, and Keith smiles again. Shiro has never felt so weak. He has also never felt so content with being weak.

Keith takes Shiro’s cock gain and pumps a few times, before lining himself just above, and sinking down.

Shiro is concerned.

Concerned at the fact that Keith, this beautiful demon-lookin’ mother fucker, just sat on his dick without preparation. He’s also concerned that he’s not gonna last long.

Keith starts to ride him, and Shiro sees stars.

There’s so many colors. It’s no longer just the purple of Keith’s skin, the yellow of his eyes, or the neon green from the flashing motel sign. He sees rainbows, galaxies, the fucking sun implodes right here in the motel room, and he feels the heat from it all.

He’s shaking underneath Keith, who’s breathing out his name like a mantra, _Shiro, ah- Shiro, Takashi-_

Shiro has never felt so good. It’s complete bliss.

Keith is moaning on top of him and bouncing up and down so effortlessly. The ears, the tail, the fangs, nothing is putting him off. Keith still looks heaven-sent.

Hell-sent?

Shiro doesn’t know.

Shiro also doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t feel strong enough to grab Keith, to roll him onto his back and fuck him the way that he knows he wants to. Instead, his hands just find Keith’s thighs and squeeze, holding on to Keith like his life depends on it. Soft, strong, thighs- both beautiful and terrifying.

One hand leaves Keith’s thigh and instead grips at his dick. Keith’s movement’s stutter, neither of them are going to last much longer.

Keith’s hips finally halt and he comes with a growl, it’s music, a catchy guitar riff, a beautiful melody. Shiro can barely hear it, though.

Shiro follows almost immediately behind. He doesn’t feel like he’s breathing once he comes. Maybe he isn’t; it doesn’t matter, the whole world goes black in an instant anyway.

 

 

Consciousness does not leave him for long. It’s still dark outside when he comes back into himself. He’s in the same bed, Keith’s motel room, as the light outside continues to flicker.

Except, Keith is gone.  

Shiro’s eyes scan the room for Keith’s belongings, but all he sees are his own. No skinny jeans or dirty chucks left behind. He’s alone in this room now, with too many questions.

He looks down at his chest, where deep burgundy scratches and bites remain. He thinks about Keith touching him, kissing him, and his heart feels like it’s on fire again.

He’d do it again, given the chance.

His body is weak, and so, so tired. If he could move, he’d leave the room and go searching for Keith and demand an explanation. He can barely sit up, so he doesn’t.

He may as well rest up, tomorrow he’ll be on his way to California.

He’ll listen to Queen on the way there.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on [tumblr](http://emotabek.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
